Los Perdidos: The Novel (Sons of Glory Motorcycle Club Romance) (4 page)

As I ran raced to work, my mind went back once again to everything that had happened once Smoke and I had left the Black Dog last night. We had ridden out to the edge of the city limits, with me on the back of his bike. I had trouble with the motion of the cycle at first. He had told me to lean with him as we turned, but since I had never ridden on a motorcycle before, my body’s instinct was to want to be vertical instead. As we drove, he yelled back to me again that I needed to lean with the bike, not against it. “Gravity and physics are taking care of you, and I’ll do the rest,” he shouted encouragingly, and I eventually started to relax. When he could feel that my arms were less tense around him, he gave the bike some throttle and sped up. We flew through the night, and the cool air felt exhilarating against my face. I might have gotten cold in my skimpy outfit except for the heat that radiated from Smoke’s back. I nestled into him relaxed further, feeling my body ease into the ride.

As we got to the edge of town, Smoke pulled off the road into a gravel parking lot. A large warehouse stood at the far end of the lot, and a pickup truck and two motorcycles were parked about fifteen feet from a small open door off to one side of the building. Smoke parked the bike, waited for me to get off, and leaned it onto its kickstand. “Why don’t you stay here, darlin’,” he suggested. I looked around at the dark and deserted lot. I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to stand out here by myself, but his easy grin put my mind at ease. “Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I’ll just be in there, and I’ll be back out in a few minutes. If you need anything, just holler. I can hear you from in there.” I smiled back at him and nodded, and he turned and disappeared through the door.

In a few seconds, my buzzing ears had adjusted to the silence after the roar of the engine, and I could hear conversation coming from the other side of the open doorway. I recognized the low murmur of Smoke’s voice as he asked a question. A slightly higher, raspy male voice responded to him. I tried to remember the name of the man that Ram, the president of the motorcycle club, had told Smoke to come talk to. Was it Gangrene? I furrowed my brow at the strangeness of the name, and laughed to myself wondering how a man ended up with a nickname like that. Other voices, less distinct, drifted toward me from inside the building, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Other than the murmur of voices from inside, the night was very tranquil here. I could hear crickets chirping in the cool of the darkness, and the sky was so clear I could see lots of stars. Relaxing into the moment, I sat back down on the bike in Smoke’s spot, and leaned back until I was lying on the seat with my legs hanging down on either side of the bike. Staring at dazzling night sky, I felt strangely at peace, here in the company of this man I barely knew.

I don’t know how long I remained like that, staring up at the stars while the murmur of male conversation drifted to me through the open door. Eventually, I was jolted back to myself when a deep voice, one I hadn’t heard yet, began shouting. “Don’t you fuck with me, Smoke. If I go back to Top Hat with this, you all are gonna be startin’ a world of hurt.” I could see shadows through the door, of men gesturing, but that was all.

I could hear Smoke’s murmur as he replied. He didn’t raise his voice, but something about his tone had changed. Then there was more shouting, this time from other voices I hadn’t heard before. Then I heard a thud, and the sound of someone falling. A crash, then Smoke again, murmuring quietly to someone. A few seconds later, Smoke emerged and sauntered toward the bike as I sat up. When he got close, he smiled at me, but his expression was tense. “I gotta take you home, now, baby doll. I got some business to attend to, and this ain’t nothin’ to interest you.” Without a word, he got on the bike and started it up. “Put your helmet back on,” he said over the sound of the engine. His voice was tinged with something that might have been anger.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, clipping the chin strap.

“Everything’s just fine,” he said smoothly, and put the bike into gear.

We drove back to town in silence, the only words exchanged between us happening when Smoke asked me where I lived. I gave him directions toward the campus, and then guided him toward my dorm. He pulled up in front of the building and cut the engine. “Here you, go, College,” he said, steadying the bike so I could get off. He took the helmet from me and attached it to the side of the bike. Flipping the kickstand down, he leaned the bike onto it and dismounted. “You sleep tight, now, you hear?” he said softly. He took my chin in his hand and drew my face to his, kissing me deeply. My body responded, instantly awake and aroused. As my tongue tangled with his, I boldly reached down to stroke the hardening bulge in his jeans. Smoke groaned and pulled away, muttering, “Now, don’t get me started, darlin’, or I’ll have to take you over there against that wall and fuck you until we wake the whole college up.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” I whispered bravely.

He smiled devilishly at me. “You like playin’ with fire, don’t you?” I nodded, matching him devilish look for devilish look. “Damn, you are a temptation,” he growled. “But I got some club business I have to take care of.” His expression hardened for a moment, lost in his thoughts. When his smile returned again, I noticed that this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been a real pleasure, College. Maybe our paths will cross again sometime.” He kicked the bike into gear and gave me a quick four-finger wave from the throttle as he drove away.

I stood back and watched him recede into the distance. There was a knot in the pit of my stomach as I told myself I would probably never see him again. Sighing, I fumbled in my purse for my ID card and slid it through the security slot in the front door. I felt dejected and suddenly exhausted as I trudged up the stairs to my room. Once inside, I didn’t even bother to turn on the light or take off my clothes as I dropped my purse down next to my bed. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and set it on the nightstand, not even bothering to look at it, and fell onto the bed. I was fast asleep in seconds, and hadn’t woken up once until Dana’s incessant texting had finally buzzed me awake.

I made it to the library by 12:15. My boss, Ms. Sharpe, was not happy with me. She wasn’t a very nice person in general, talking behind people’s backs and throwing snide little cuts at them when they performed a task in a way that wasn’t up to her exacting standards. I had worked for her for two years, and up until now I had mostly managed to stay on her good side by always being on time. It didn’t hurt that I always volunteered for extra work during school breaks, when people who had families went home to see them. Today, however, even though I apologized and told her it wouldn’t happen again, she was unmoved. Looking at me with an expression of open disdain, as though she suspected I hadn’t showered today, she didn’t bother to acknowledge my apology, but simply continued to berate me. “You know, Jenny, if you don’t want this job, there are plenty of other students who would be happy to have it,” she snarked.

My temper flared in spite of me, due no doubt to lack of sleep and confusion about whether I’d see Smoke again. Suddenly, I had had enough of her fake, passive-aggressive behavior to last a lifetime. “If you’re that unhappy with my work, then feel free to fire me,” I said pointedly. I looked her straight in the eyes and refused to break my gaze.
Life is too short for this shit,
I thought.

Ms. Sharpe blinked in surprise, looking almost as if I had slapped her. She stood silently for a moment, as though trying to decide how to respond. Finally, with a small purse of her lips, she backed down, saying: “No, of course not, Jenny. But please be more conscientious next time.” Turning, she walked away from me quickly, as if glad to be done with the confrontation. I felt a small, strange thrill at having stood up to someone I normally wouldn’t have dared to cross, for fear of losing my only means of financial support outside of my student loans.

My standoff with Ms. Sharpe notwithstanding, the rest of my shift dragged on slowly, with not enough work to keep me really occupied. I silently cursed myself for forgetting to bring any homework with me. Instead, I listlessly surfed the internet between tasks to make the time pass. I had even forgotten my cell phone back at the dorm – not that the one person I wanted to hear from knew my number, anyway.

Five long hours later, I logged out and walked back across campus to my dorm. Kara was gone, but she had left a note saying she’d gone to a basketball game with Josh. With no plans myself, I texted Dana to see if she wanted to hang out. She wrote back that she and Cory were going out to dinner for their ten-month anniversary, but suggested the three of us girls go out together the following night. I agreed and texted Kara to let her know about our girl date.

Resigned to spending Saturday evening alone, I grabbed my bathroom kit and went to take a long overdue shower. After spending a sinfully long time letting the hot water beat down against my skin and massage my fatigue away, I felt more relaxed and less out of sorts about the likelihood that I would never see Smoke again. I made myself a dinner of Ramen noodles and spent most of the evening reading a trashy novel I had started weeks ago but had never found the time to finish. When I was sick of that, I grabbed my laptop, lurked on Facebook and Twitter for a while, and then found myself googling “Los Perdidos Motorcycle Club.”

I was astonished to find that, not only was information on them easy to find, they had their own website. They had chapters all over the country, not just here in California. The information on their website itself was pretty cryptic, though. There were lists of the different chapters, information on the club’s history, and some grainy photos of “forever members” – from what I could gather, these were club members who had died. Other websites painted a more sinister picture of Los Perdidos, suggesting that the club had been linked to a variety of illegal activities and violence, including drug running. Those sites referred to them as one of the “outlaw motorcycle clubs” and “one percenters.” When I googled for more information on those terms, I got quite an education in a short amount of time. I learned that “one percenter” referred to the fact that the American Motorcycle Association had asserted in the 1960s that 99% of motorcycle riders were decent, law-abiding citizens. So, outlaw motorcycle clubs had embraced being called the “one percent.” I found articles and blogs that called Los Perdidos a gang of murderers, anarchists, and thieves. Some of the more sensationalistic websites compared them to the mafia; some said they were even worse.

I shut the laptop with a bang, my heart pounding. These were not just some weekend warriors play-acting. I had just come face to face with the cold, hard reality that the man who had given me the most amazing sexual pleasure I had ever felt in my life might be involved in some serious, dangerous shit.
What did you expect?
I scolded myself, trying to calm my racing emotions.
It’s not like you thought he was some choir boy. This isn’t some TV version of reality. This guy is a member of a gang.

I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. Smoke’s face immediately appeared before me. His blue eyes met mine, as clear and deep as the sea. The corners of his wide, sensuous mouth turned up just a little in the mischievous, slightly mocking expression that I had already come to know so well. The expression that turned my insides to Jello. This man, who already knew how to make my body respond like no other had – how was I supposed to just forget him? How was I supposed to just go on with my life now, as though nothing had happened, when in fact everything had changed for me? Since Friday, I didn’t even feel like the same person anymore. It was as though the person I was now had grown too large for the tiny little container she had come packed in.

As I was lying there, deep in my troubled thoughts, I heard the doorknob turn, and Kara walked in. She looked radiant, flushed and happy, and I knew she had just gotten back from the basketball game with Josh. “Jenny! You’re home!” she squealed excitedly. “What’s up?”

Gratitude filled me as I contemplated my sweet friend and roommate, who was always so glad to see me. I told her I had been too tired to go out that night, and asked her how her date had been.

“It was so fun!” she enthused, bouncing onto her bed with excitement. “Josh was super patient about explaining all the basketball stuff to me. I never really paid much attention to it before, but it’s actually kind of exciting!”

I smiled warmly at her, happy for my friend’s good fortune. We chatted as she moved around the room busily, getting ready for bed. As she was just about to turn off the light, I asked her the question that had been burning in my mind since she got back.

“Kara,” I said softly, “Do you regret kissing that guy at the motorcycle bar last night?”

Kara was silent for a moment. “Not really,” she replied. “Especially because of how things worked out, you know? Josh probably would never have said anything about how he felt if he hadn’t gotten upset over seeing me kiss that guy. So, it was worth it. And it was kind of exciting! But I would never have been brave enough to go any further, like you did.” She looked at me and smiled her lovely, innocent smile. “I mean, it was fun and everything, but you know. Guys like that and girls like us… it just wouldn’t work, would it?”

“No, I guess it wouldn’t,” I replied quietly.

“Why do you ask?” she asked, reaching for the light switch. “Do you? Regret going home with that guy, I mean?”

“No,” I said, half to myself. “I don’t.”